Some Days
by PaxtonProphet
Summary: A monologue taken day by day, focusing on the feelings one does not understand and cannot control.


Some days, I don't want to move. I want to watch, and wait, and will the control out of me. I want to ignore this facade I wear and just stare, stand quiet, silent as a shadow. Some days, I want those eyes, who avidly watch me, to look away, if only for a moment. I want to mope, I want to pout, I want to smash something, anything, like a child because feeling it break beneath my force would be so quick and so satisfying, so cathartic.

Some days, I want to scream until my voice is shattered and no longer exists. I want to yell so loud that I break glass, deafen human ears, and shake the walls that confine me. I want the world to hear me as I let loose the demons within me, let loose my anger so fiercely it could end existence.

Some days, I want to be alone. I want to cower in some empty corner, far from wondering eyes and ears. I want to feel the fingers of solitude and loneliness grip me and embrace me. I want to see empty rooms and empty halls and empty shadows. I want to close my eyes and ear only the silence, nothing but the silence. I don't even want to hear myself, my own workings twisting and purring with whatever it is within me we call 'life.'

Some days, I want to hurt them for no other reason than to relieve my frustration, unknowing if they share it. I want to pitch a violent fit, destroying everything around me, even them if they decide to get in my way. I want to make my pain and my irritation evident. I want them to see it. I want to world to see it. I want them to pity me and I don't want their pity at the same time. I want them to know this part of me, this rage that I cannot subdue. I want THEM to feel it, even if the same rage resides within them.

Some days, I wonder if they, too, have those days. I wonder if they ever grow tired of their existence. I wonder if they ever try to fend off their emotions, as I do. There are so many questions I want to ask, but so many that are left unasked for I have no voice to ask them. I only tilt my head at every little quirk of every night, silently questioning their actions. Sometimes, they do the same, and I do as they do and only stare. As we sit and sing, daylight being the holder of our leashes, I glance to them and I ask the same questions in my head. "Are you as tired as I am? Are you as angry as I am? Do you want to cry and scream and stomp as I do?" I like to think I know the answer, but I don't, because I don't know them... Even if I used to...

Some days, I ponder the questions of man, though they apply to me no longer and I never grew into their matter. I ponder existence and the origins of life. I ponder the workings of fate. I ponder why and I ponder when and I ponder the now because now I hurt and now and see. I ask of the world so much and receive so little. I ask for clarity and answers and search for that which I wish for. I walk the halls and rooms, looking and only looking. I ignore any life that may be lurking or hiding and allow the rest to do the work if they wish. Sometimes, HE joins me... In a way. I'd enter his room and he'd watch silently, me seeing his eyes through the stary fabric of his enclosure. I ponder the idea of pity and wonder if that is how I should feel for him. I wonder if he feels anything towards the rest of us. I wonder if his stillness and neglect ever bothered him or if it was a constant that he never knew better of. Sometimes I simply stare at his eyes, peering through the darkness at me and I don't move. Neither does he.

Some days I want to lash out at everything. I want to end it all. I want to quiet the screaming, the crying, the inattentiveness with one quick, visceral stroke. I want to destroy the life around me as though it would bring me some resolution, but there is no resolution for me! There is no sleep! There is no rest! There is no way to stop these feelings and these thoughts! They go about their lives, heedless of what we are, what I am, what we once were. They do not question, they do not wonder! They are so focused on their own trivial worries that the past does not affect them! They only watch. They always watch and they always criticize. They call us tacky. They call us ugly. They laugh at us. They fear us. They fuel the fire that burns within me like dry straw! With every snide remark, my fist balls tighter and my movements become jerky and disjointed. I find it harder to focus and harder to remain the happy, entertaining mascot I was made to me, the titler and the icon they built me to be. I find it hard to forget what little I can remember. I just want to scream and stomp and cry and break like the child I am. I want to throw tantrums and wail at the top of my lungs for the same, pointless reasons they do... And I want someone to be there... and tell me it's okay... To hold me... To wipe away my tears... To love me...

Some days... I force through it... because a single smile on the face of a single child... pulls me from my abyss of bitterness... And reminds me... They are children, too, and they need to smile more than I do.


End file.
